


Stuck on You

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2019 [15]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, accidental pining, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Oikawa hates his old high school nemesis turned roommate. That is, of course, until he doesn't, and he has no idea which is better or worse.





	Stuck on You

There are several things Oikawa will endure. That pain in your side when you run too long, Sunday dinner with his slightly racist grandma, having to wash his hair every morning to avoid looking like he licked a light socket, and even Iwa-chan mothering him when his knee is acting up.

But this? Unacceptable. Far beyond it, in fact. There is nothing he can conceive in his stressed out brain that can supplant this situation in how intolerable it is. This is the kind of thing nightmares and bad soap operas are made of.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is his college roommate, and Oikawa could not be unhappier.

It’s bad enough they’re on the same team, but sharing every other aspect of his home life away from home is not something he is willing to put up with. However, a stern glare from the dorm’s RA told him that the situation isn’t going to change anytime soon.

So here they are. Ushijima is quietly flipping through his calculus textbook with his right hand and scribbling notes with his left — totally, obnoxiously at ease. Oikawa has to bite his tongue just to keep from snapping at Ushijima for no reason at all and making the guy seem even more stupidly calm in comparison.

Iwaizumi refuses to listen to him complain about it anymore. “Dude, grow up,” Iwaizumi had said after the sixth night in a row of Oikawa’s constant stream of irritation in text form. “If all he’s doing to piss you off is exist, then maybe you can figure out how to get over it and stop stressing yourself out. You sound like a whiny fourteen year old addicted to eyeliner and MCR.”

Oikawa hadn’t bothered to dignify that with an answer, but he knew then and still does that Iwaizumi is right. Ushijima has no problem with the arrangement whatsoever, and he has been nothing but polite to Oikawa when they end up in the same room. He is also tidy and fastidious about keeping up with his share of the chores without badgering Oikawa when he doesn’t do his. That probably makes it worse.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, _I can do this. No big deal._

“Oikawa,” Ushijima interjects into his thoughts. “Do you remember what the extrema value theorem formula is?”

Yes, he does, and he wishes he didn’t. Oikawa slaps the lid of his laptop shut, cutting off the stream of audio from the mediocre B-movie series he’s been binging all day on Netflix. “Ugh, fine. I’ll help you with your stupidly simple homework. I definitely don’t have better things to do.”

Ushijima gives him a pinched look. “Are you unwell? You seem out of sorts.”

Taking a fortifying breath, Oikawa screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I’m fine. Don’t mind me. Just a little cranky about some stuff.” _Stuff = you,_ the little devil riding on his shoulder chimes. Squelching the urge to physically flick his anti-conscience from his shoulder, Oikawa sits next to Ushijima on his bed and tugs the textbook closer to look. “Okay, here’s what you do . . .”

As Oikawa speaks, Ushijima hangs on his every word, repeating the highlights to show understanding and then recording his learnings in his stupidly neat handwriting for future use. Twenty minutes later, Ushijima’s assignment is finished, and he receives a cordial, “Thank you for your help.”

“The great Oikawa-san is always happy to help,” slips from Oikawa’s lips before he can stop it. “Forget I said that. It makes me sound ridiculous.”

Ushijima raises a brow. “Why is it ridiculous? Take pride in being good at things.”

Oikawa scoffs. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”

Staring intently at Oikawa, Ushijima’s face is an impassive for an uncomfortable amount of time before a hint of a smile teases at the corners of his mouth. A pair of dimples sprouts on his cheeks, and the devil on Oikawa’s shoulder shrieks in agony.

So that’s a thing, he muses. Ushijima is actually really good-looking, and Oikawa hates that he even notices.

“You seem to dislike when I say things seriously, so I thought I’d try a joke.” Ushijima slides his books under his bed and turns to Oikawa. “I was about to order in. Do you want anything?”

On cue, Oikawa’s stomach rattles with hunger, and his entire face turns red. “I take it that’s a yes,” Ushijima states. “You’re partial to the tonkatsu from the place right off campus, right? I’ve seen you order it before.”

Stymied that Ushijima has been observing his personal habits to that degree, Oikawa nods woodenly because he doesn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he goes back to his movie, sprawling out on the floor in front of his laptop. He notices all the way to the base of his spine when Ushijima settles next to him, legs crossed while he watches the film, as well.

“Why is she naked?” Ushijima asks, squinting as he leans closer to the screen. “Running through bushes couldn’t possibly rip her clothes off like that.”

Oikawa harrumphs. “No idea. All these crappy horror movies have boobs in them. It’s the only way they make any money off the DVD sales.”

“Then why do they make them if they’re not going to make money.”

Scratching his head, Oikawa admits, “I don’t actually know. What I do know is they’re so bad, they’re good. It’s the experience that most people are in it for. There’s something about watching something that’s so terrible that you can’t take it seriously, so it’s just some stupid fun.”

“Ah.” Oikawa chortles when he sees that Ushijima certainly does not understand, but he is definitely trying to process it.

Their food arrives in short order, and Ushijima pays without asking Oikawa to chip in his share. Instead, he returns to his seat to Oikawa’s left and hands him a giant styrofoam bowl. “Thank you for helping me. I wasn’t actually sure if you would or not. I know I’m not your favorite person in the world.”

Oikawa cannot deny it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he lifts his bowl in salute and inhales the savory scent of gusto. “Come to papa.”

The two of them set into their meals while watching the absurd ending to the film. However, Oikawa finds himself captivated by the singular focus with which Ushijima observes the details of the film. His eyes barely leave the screen, even to eat. By the end of the movie, Ushijima’s ramen has to be stone cold, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

While the credits roll, Ushijima finally finishes his dinner while Oikawa points out the parts of the film he finds interesting. Here and there, he receives a nod of agreement, and when the next movie in the series starts playing, Ushijima is rapt.

Well past midnight, they finally reach the end of their marathon, and Oikawa lies back and starfishes on the floor. “Wow, that was terrible. I love it.”

Ushijima nods. “I think the boobs actually do make it funnier.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Oikawa gives Ushijima a weak punch in the arm. “I think I might sleep here tonight.” Yawning loudly, he turns on his side and curls up into a ball. “‘M tired. Bed’s too far.”

He hears Ushijima sigh. “You shouldn’t do that. It’s bad for your back.”

Oikawa yelps when Ushijima scoops him up without warning and deposits him onto his own bed. Too shocked to protest, Oikawa gawks while Ushijima cleans up the remnants of dinner and puts Oikawa’s laptop away. “Thank you for the good company.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa tugs his blanket over his face and heaves a sigh. He has just spent a bulk of his day with his arch nemesis, and somehow, some way, he has actually enjoyed it.

Ushijima is still annoying. Oikawa is just no longer sure whether he is more put out by Ushijima or by himself at how he reacts.

After a few days, their impromptu movie night starts to approach the realm of surreal. Outside of practice, they don’t see much of each other outside of passing out every night. However, here and there, when one of them would get back to the dorm at a reasonable hour, the other will find a takeout bowl in their mini-fridge with their name on it.

Oikawa has no idea if Ushijima likes what he picks from the delivery menu, but somehow everything Ushijima selects for him is delicious and exactly the right portion size. It’s almost obnoxious, how much of Oikawa’s domestic habits Ushijima has observed.

However, Oikawa is slowly but surely losing his annoyance with Ushijima’s presence and he is only a little bit mad about it.

After a grueling week of training camp following the summer tournament, the whole team is granted a three day weekend off from practice to unwind and recharge. Oikawa knows exactly what he is planning to do with his, and it’s with no small amount of glee that he jams a few necessities into a backpack so he can spend the weekend at home eating junk and catching up with Iwaizumi, whose university is out of town and is also on a mini-break.

He is about to grab his hairbrush when he spies something he can’t unsee. Ushijima is sitting on his bed, stone faced and staring at a textbook. “Oi, Bakawaka-chan, go home. The point of a weekend off is to _not_ doing homework. You’re bad this whole relaxing thing.”

“I’m not going home,” Ushijima says flatly, not looking up from the page of his sociology book Oikawa is sure hasn’t been turned in a half hour.

Blinking because he doesn’t know how else to process this information, Oikawa merely blurts, “Why not?”

Finally, Ushijima casts him a tired glance. “My family home is only a few kilometers from here. If I wanted to go home, I would.”

“If you want —” Oikawa gulps. “Oh.”

Well, now he feels like crap.

Ushijima interrupts his thoughts like he can hear them. “It doesn't matter. Really. Enjoy your weekend.” With that, he goes back to pretending to do his homework.

“Then come home with me.”

Oikawa doesn’t know what possesses him to even harbor the thought, let alone voice it. Yet as he says it, he doesn’t regret it. The idea of Ushijima lying on a futon on his bedroom floor is strange, but as he watches a surprising swath of different emotions flit across Ushijima’s face, Oikawa finds himself clenching and unclenching his hands, hoping his offer is accepted.

The book slaps closed in Ushijima’s lap, and he sighs. “That really isn’t necessary. It would be rude to intrude on your family time.”

Nose scrunched, Oikawa sticks out his tongue and raspberries. “Don’t be a stick in the mud. Friends are just family in training. Now pack your stuff.” Ushijima opens his mouth, and Oikawa tuts him quiet. “And you don’t get to say no.”

A smile teases, the dimples come along with it, and Oikawa almost drops his hairbrush.

An hour later, the two of them are on the bus trundling toward the far side of Sendai. Oikawa is plugging away at a handheld game, shooting alien invaders from the skies with extreme prejudice, while Ushijima thumbs through the latest issue of _Volleyball Monthly._

The walk from the nearby bus stop to the Oikawa residence is a short one, but more than once, Oikawa notices Ushijima fighting the urge to excuse himself. “Don’t you dare run away.”

Ushijima chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t. You finally stopped glaring at me when we’re in the same room. I don’t want to rock the boat.”

“So I’ve scared you into submission?” Oikawa elbows Ushijima a little harder than strictly necessary. “Excellent.”

They arrive just before dinnertime, and Oikawa flings the door open and declares, “I’m home! Save us some noodles.”

From the other room, a very familiar voice calls out, “Jesus, you slowpoke. You finally got here.” The door to the foyer swings open, and Iwaizumi plows through in a well-worn t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, hair askew like he just rolled out of bed. “What took you so long to get ho—ho-ly shit.” His eyes lock onto Ushijima and he gapes, unblinking and jaw slack.

“Iwaizumi.” Ushijima inclines his head and toes off his shoes.

Oikawa flings a shoe at Iwaizumi and scoffs. “You’re never allowed to make fun of my bedhead again. You better not have drooled on my pillow, Iwa-chan.” Digging through the coat closet next to the door, Oikawa fishes out a spare pair of slippers and drops them on the floor in front of Ushijima. “These are my brother’s. He’s tall and annoying, too, so they should fit all right.”

When Ushijima snorts at the joke, Iwaizumi reels back and drops to his seat on the recessed step of the genkan. “Did I show up at the wrong house?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa groans in delight when his feet find their way into his old and ridiculously comfortable slippers. “Oh, it’s good to be home.”

Oikawa grabs Ushijima’s wrist and tugs him toward the stairs. “Let’s get our stuff upstairs. Smells like Mom’s making her special noodles tonight.”

By the time they deposit their bags into Oikawa’s room, Ushijima’s face is fraught with bewilderment that Oikawa is hard-pressed not to laugh at. “Why are you being so weird?” Shrugging, he amends, “Well, weirder than usual.”

“This is strange for me.” Ushijima stows his bag at the foot of Oikawa’s bed. “Your home is very . . . lively.”

In concert with Ushijima hinting earlier that he didn’t care to go home, his reaction to something utterly innate to Oikawa’s homelife doesn’t seem so odd anymore. “I assume your best friend doesn’t show up at your house looking like a scrub and yet your mom still likes him better than you.” Oikawa chuckles. “Iwa-chan and I have been best friends for as long as we can remember.”

Ushijima sits on Oikawa’s bed and closes his eyes, and a wry smile sneaks up the corners of his mouth. “That sound nice.”

“He has his moments.” Without ceremony, Oikawa sheds his clothes in favor of sleepwear himself. When he finishes, he notices that Ushijima is staring out the window, eyes fastened to literally anything else but Oikawa.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You’re being unusually prudish. Relax. Just think of this as dorm life, but with home cooking and better tv and a mean old cat lurking around somewhere.” He snatches Ushijima’s bag and thrusts it into his arms. “Now get changed. Weekends are pajamas only. House rules.”

Ushijima complies without protest, and Oikawa drags him downstairs as soon as he’s decent. “Mom wants to meet you.”

“Oh.”

In the kitchen, Oikawa’s mother Takako leans over a steaming pot on the stove, clad in sleep shorts and a tank top in similar fashion to the rest of them. She inhales the savory scent wafting from the pot and groans. “Oh, I am awesome.”

“Mama, this is my roommate, Wakatoshi-kun.” Oikawa nudges Ushijima forward. “He was going to be boring and spend the whole weekend at school, so I kidnapped him.”

Takako gives Ushijima a little wave. “Nice to meet you, Wakatoshi-kun. You don’t look nearly as grumpy as Tooru says you do.”

“ _Mom_.” Oikawa buries his face in his hands. “Did I say this is my mom? I actually meant she’s a terrible skinwalker impersonating my mom. I would never say anything so rude without specific instructions to never tell another living soul.”

Ushijima laughs out loud, and Takako grins. “I like you. Also, I hope you like noodles because I’m making a bunch.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Oikawa-san.” Ushijima gives her a very respectable iteration of a bow. “And dinner smells delicious.”

She beams at Ushijima — a smile Oikawa has been told his entire life is almost a mirror of his own. “I like you. Tooru makes such nice friends, but he is always such a rude little hobgoblin. If you keep this up, you’ll have a standing invitation just like Hajime.”

Done with his mother dragging his good name through the mud, Oikawa huffs and turns his attention to the basket on the counter. “Milk bread!” He reaches in to snare a piece, but inches from target, a wooden spoon slaps across his knuckles. “Ow!”

“Those are for dinner. Now set the table and make Takeru turn off the tv. His mom hates it when I let him watch Spongebob.”

Oikawa grumbles and drags Ushijima with him to the living room, where Oikawa’s nine year old nephew is sprawled out in front of the kotatsu, watching Spongebob Squarepants. He prods Takeru’s backside with the toe of his slipper. “Baa-chan says turn it off. Dinner’s almost done.”

“Hi,” Ushijima blurts, and Oikawa guffaws.

“This is Wakatoshi. Now be a good little gremlin and find Hajime. It’s almost time to eat.” He shoos off Takeru and offers Ushijima a spot on the couch. “I’ll let you know when dinner is done. Should be ready in a few minutes.”

Oikawa sets the table as his mother requested, and soon the entire household descends upon the kitchen table. The noodles can’t be doled out fast enough, and they are all bursting at the seams after several rounds of seconds and maybe a few thirds.

It takes a while, but bit by bit, Ushijima melds his way into the conversation, varying from gardening to Godzilla. Oikawa is taken aback by how much Ushijima knows about flowers and also giant murder dinosaurs. More than once over the course of the meal, Takako and Iwaizumi both catch him staring.

Once the meal ends, Ushijima starts cleaning up after their meal without prompting. Poised to object, Oikawa closes his mouth when he notices that the serene expression on Ushijima’s face is the same one he gets when he is doing chores or reading manga or even watching terrible slasher movies.

He is happy, and it looks good on him.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Iwaizumi offers, and the two of them shuttle the dishes over to the sink and start washing up.

Meanwhile, Takako grabs Oikawa by the arm and hauls him into the other room. She waggles her brows. “So, when are you going to tell Wakatoshi-kun that you like him?”

“ _What_?” Oikawa hisses as loud as he dares. “What makes you think I like Bakawaka-chan? He’s . . . him, and I’m me. That would never work.”

Takako flicks him on the forehead. “You’re a smart boy, Tooru, but you are also an idiot.”

Oikawa scowls. “Rude.”

“So you’re telling me that making something work with a guy you’ve painted as the volleyball antichrist for the past five years is completely undoable, but you’ve roomed with him all of two months and you’re already bringing him home for the weekend to eat you mom’s special noodles?” She plants her hands on her hips and quirks a brow.

Glowering, Oikawa crosses his arms and turns up his nose. “That’s nonsense. As if you’d forgive me if I knew someone had nowhere to go on a weekend off and didn’t offer.”

“If you didn’t care, you never would’ve asked,” she says, and Oikawa sighs. “And he doesn’t seem the type to volunteer stuff like that.”

Dropping onto the genkan’s top step, Oikawa pouts. “Stop doing that. It’s creepy when you read my mind.”

“Maybe when your face doesn’t broadcast every thought you’ve ever had.” Takako ruffles his hair and chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re dumb.”

Long after she leaves him to check up on the kitchen cleaning endeavor, Oikawa sits there staring at the floor tiles, letting her words soak into his screaming brain.

Does he _like_ Ushijima? Sure, he no longer loathes Ushijima’s presence, and the guy has good taste in food. But _like_? He is certainly good-looking and he does that cute thing with his face when he laughs and his smile is —

“Oh my god, I’m a disaster gay.”

“No shit, Captain Obvious.” Iwaizumi plops next to Oikawa and bumps their shoulders together. “I can see smoke coming out of your ears.”

Oikawa looks over his shoulder. “Where is Ushiwaka-chan?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “He is in the middle of a long and ridiculously detailed conversation with Takeru about some superhero anime. I don’t know. I don’t speak nerd.” He smirks at Oikawa. “So you brought Ushiwaka home, eh?”

“I know!” Oikawa lets his head droop between his knees and whines. “He wasn’t going home for the weekend because he obviously didn’t want to be there, and god only knows what kind of thing would make you not wanna go home and I just — I just offered, and I didn’t let him say no.”

“Dude.” Iwaizumi presses the back of his hand onto Oikawa’s forehead. “Are you sick or something?”

Sighing heavily, Oikawa groans, “Probably. What am I supposed to do?”

Iwaizumi throws back his head and laughs. “You have to be the stupidest guy in Japan. What do you _think_ you’re supposed to do when you like someone, dumbass?”

“Suffer and get over it.” He winds his arms around Iwaizumi’s bicep and droops his forehead on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I miss you.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi leans into Oikawa, and for a moment, Oikawa relishes the familiarity of it. Everything else might be batshit insane, but Iwaizumi keeping his head screwed on right has never changed.

Finally, Oikawa asks, “Should I tell him?”

Iwaizumi hums. “You share a room with the guy, and even if he is dumb as a stump about people in general, he’s not stupid. He’ll figure it out, and it’ll be a lot better coming from you.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa swallows hard.

This is uncharted territory for him. Sure, he’s had a few crushes (both guys and girls) and even a girlfriend in high school he didn’t pay nearly enough attention to the way he should have. However, none of them have pressed him with the almost manic urgency that is roiling in his gut while the focus of those energies is in the next room.

And, of course, Iwaizumi is correct. It would be hellish to have those sorts of feelings for someone who sleeps a few meters away every night and not do anything about it. And if Ushijima wants out, the campus housing office will probably accommodate them if both of them ask for reassignment.

He doesn’t want reassignment, but he also doesn’t want to have a Thing for Ushijima Wakatoshi. It’s just out of his hands.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.” Oikawa takes a fortifying breath and straightens his posture, willing strength into himself. “He seems so happy right now. I don’t want to ruin that.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Tooru.”

“Shut up, Iwa-chan. I’m young and beautiful.” They both laugh, and the tension eases out of Oikawa. He knows what he is going to do and when. He just has the rest of the night to figure out how.

They return to the living room, and Oikawa swallows hard at the sight that awaits him. Takeru is sprawled out on Ushijima’s lap, fast asleep in a carbohydrate coma while Ushijima tugs a throw blanket over him. When he notices them coming in, Ushijima looks up with a dopey smile on his face.

Oikawa’s heart stutters in his chest. The dimples, the warm mood in the house, his own stupid feelings, and the utterly tranquil domestic scene in front of him converge on him like a punch in the gut. A few months ago, he would have pictured Ushijima holding a child at arm’s length and looking at it like an alien. Now he can’t look away at the easiness with which he soaks up normal family life that he obviously doesn’t have at his own home.

Oikawa takes the seat on Ushijima’s other side and eases back into the plush recesses of the couch. “My brother and his wife usually have date night on Fridays, so he spends the night here in his dad’s old room.” When Ushijima nods in understanding, he adds, “If you want, I can take him upstairs so you can move around again.”

“No, it’s all right.” Ushijima brushes a stray lock of hair from Takeru’s forehead. “It’s actually kind of . . . nice.”

With no desire to press the issue and ruin the moment, Oikawa closes his eyes and absorbs the ease in the air. Iwaizumi slouches on the armchair nearby and flips through the tv channels with the volume way down, settling on the sports news channel.

It doesn’t take long for Oikawa to follow suit, and he slowly sags into Ushijima’s side while he drifts off himself. When he awakens, it’s well past dark, and the clock on the wall says it’s after midnight. Iwaizumi is asleep in his chair, and Takeru is still out, as well.

Ushijima has also passed out, his cheek resting on the crown of Oikawa’s head and his palm on Oikawa’s knee.

As much as he hates to disturb this tranquil scene, Oikawa yawns loudly until Ushijima stirs from his unplanned nap. “Let’s head up to bed,” he says once Ushijima seems lucid enough to absorb his words. “We’ll probably all wake up with a wicked backache.”

“Of course.” Ushijima gathers Takeru into his arms, his breath hitching when small arms wind their way around his neck. “Where is your brother’s room?”

“Just a sec.” Oikawa reluctantly pries himself from the couch and leads the way, but he makes a minor detour over to where Iwaizumi is still dozing. He drags a fingernail up the pad of Iwaizumi’s foot, who flails awake and gracelessly drops to the floor, sputtering and ready to strangle. “Okay, now we can go.”

Once Takeru is tucked into bed, they head back to Oikawa’s room. “You enjoyed that way too much,” Ushijima notes.

Shrugging, Oikawa doesn’t bother denying it. “He’s basically like an extra brother, and one of the weird things about having siblings is that you’d do anything for them, but you’d also suplex them through a table because it’s funny.”

Ushijima snorts, holding back a proper laugh with a balled up fist. “I assume retribution is in your near future.”

“Oh, yeah.” Oikawa fights off the urge to giggle. “I’ll probably wake up with one eyebrow or a dick drawn on my forehead. Nothing I can’t handle. It’s worth it.”

He can see the utter lack of comprehension on Ushijima’s face at the concept, but in good time, Oikawa hopes that such familial ease will soak into him. Everyone deserves to have something like that.

Ushijima raises a brow when Oikawa takes the futon on the floor next to him rather than the bed. “Trust me, you don’t want to wake up to Iwa-chan’s morning breath. My bedhead is much cuter.”

“I see.” Ushijima tugs the light blanket over himself. “Goodnight, Oikawa.”

“Goodnight, Waka-chan.”

It doesn’t take long for him to fall back asleep, and it’s dawn when he wakes back up. A dull stretch of light creeps in from the crack in the curtains. Iwaizumi is on Oikawa’s bed and indeed drooling on his pillow, and Ushijima is on his side, also out like a light.

Not wanting to disturb his guests, Oikawa favors heading downstairs where he expects to find his mother nursing a cup of coffee and does. “Hi, mama.”

“Morning, baby.” She gives the coffeemaker a pointed glance. “Full pot, and I picked up some of your fru-fru creamer.”

Oikawa pecks a kiss on her forehead. “You’re too good to me.” He pours himself a large mug of coffee, complete with a generous portion of vanilla chai creamer, and joins Takako at the kitchen table. “Is Dad still on call?”

“He’s home. He’ll probably wake up sometime after lunch.” She gives him a searching look. “What about your guests?”

“Still asleep.” Groaning, Oikawa plants his forehead on the table. “Why does it have to be Ushiwaka? We’re so different.”

Takako shakes her head. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. Look at me and your dad. He’s a giant nerd and a stick in the mud most of the time, but it works out fine. No idea how. It just does.”

The example is definitely a good one. His parents are nothing alike except working long stretches of hours. Ryoutarou, his father, is a doctor at a nearby hospital who sometimes spends days there while on call, and his mother is a freelance writer who works from home. They hardly see each other, but when they do, it’s like time has hardly passed.

They finish their coffees in silence, and within an hour, the rest of the house wakes up and trickles downstairs at the smell of Takako and Oikawa working on breakfast. Takeru is the first one to arrive, blindly fishing through the fridge for the carton of orange juice. Iwaizumi is next, hair looking even worse than Oikawa’s, and with Ushijima in tow.

“Smells great,” Iwaizumi grumbles through a yawn. He pads over to the coffee pot and pours a cup of black coffee, unflinching as he takes his first few sips of Takako’s fiendishly strong brew. “Man, I miss your coffee. It’s like jet fuel.”

“A man of good taste.” Takako ruffles Iwaizumi’s hair and grins at Ushijima. “Do you drink coffee?”

Oikawa doesn’t have to look to visualize Ushijima’s shiver of distaste. “I don’t, Oikawa-san, but thank you.” He does, however, accept Takeru’s offer of the orange juice carton.

Breakfast is sedate and full of yawns, yet still warm and relaxed. Iwaizumi and Ushijima do the washing up yet again while Takeru calls dibs on the tv for new Saturday morning anime.

They all pile into the living room and spend a lazy morning in companionable silence before it’s time for Iwaizumi to head home to spend the rest of the weekend with his own family. Takeru’s parents aren’t far behind to pick up their son, and finally, Ryoutarou emerges from his hibernation to join them for lunch.

“Tooru. Hajime.” He strolls right by Oikawa, who is leaning against Ushijima trying not to fall back asleep, only to backtrack and gawk at their houseguest. “You’re not Hajime.”

“This is Wakatoshi-kun,” Takako offers from over the lid of her laptop. “He’s Tooru’s roommate-slash-friend.”

Ryoutarou salutes. “Nice to meet you, Wakatoshi-kun. Tooru doesn’t bring friends home very often aside from Hajime-kun. You must be special.”

Ushijima’s cheeks turn a charming shade of pink, and Oikawa has to bite his lip to keep from sighing. Ryoutarou continues his quest for coffee, and the only sound in the room is Takako quietly laughing to herself.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?” Oikawa asks.

Ushijima shakes his head. “No, I have no plans. What do you normally do on weekends off?”

Takako harrumphs. “That would be junk food and bad tv.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve done that,” Ushijima remarks, and Oikawa has to agree.

The last time he sat down for a do-nothing night was the ice-breaking Homework Incident. Between practice, coursework, and sleep, he hasn’t had time to do much else. “Yeah, that’s what’s on my menu.”

Their afternoon is spent consuming the entirety of the Saw series, with Ryoutarou commenting on the scientific inaccuracies, Takako on the plot holes, and Ushijima taking it all in, completely rapt.

Maybe they aren’t so different, after all.

Dinner is a welcome intermission, and the marathon pushes on well into the evening. By the sixth film, however, attention spans across the board begin to flag.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” Takako says, tucking her laptop under her arm. “Need to hammer out a few thousand words before bed.”

Stretching until his entire spine crackles like a zipper, Oikawa yawns loudly. “I think we’re going to go do sleepover stuff. See you in the morning.”

Ryoutarou waves them off and the two of them head upstairs. Once they cross the threshold of Oikawa’s room, he closes the door behind him and slouches against the frame.

“Are you all right?” Ushijima approaches, concern knitting his brow as he carefully eyes Oikawa. “You seem upset.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No, I’m not upset. Just trying to figure out how to say something.”

Ushijima quirks a brow. “I’m afraid I would be less than helpful when it comes to how to say things. I have a habit of offending people without realizing it.”

“But what about someone you really care about and upsetting them would hurt you, too?”

“I’d like to think I’m not that easily upset.” Oikawa’s eyes widen, but Ushijima just huffs. “Well, it’s not hard to figure out. You want to say something, you don’t know how to say it, and I’m the only one in the room. It goes to reason that you have something to say to me that you find difficult.”

Oikawa opens his mouth to deny it, but he can’t. Instead, he deflates and bangs his head against the door. “Yeah.”

Taking a small step back, Ushijima sighs. “If you want me to leave, it’s fine. I know I’m not exactly fun.”

It doesn’t sound fine, Oikawa reckons by the barest hint of a quaver in Ushijima’s voice. And it certainly isn’t what he wants. “Don’t be stupid, Waka-chan. I’ve never had a problem telling you to go away before. Why would I start now?”

“You have a point.” Ushijima bites his lip. “But something is still bothering you. If you want to just talk, I’ll listen I’m not good at giving advice by any means, but I’ll definitely hear what you have to say.”

“Come on, Tooru, get your act together,” Oikawa murmurs to himself. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “The last bus out of this neighborhood leaves in forty-five minutes if you want to leave after I tell you this. If you don’t want to go all the way across town, I’m sure Iwa-chan will put you up for the night.”

Ushijima’s frown deepens. “What could you possibly say that would make me leave a place I like being in the middle of the night?”

Oikawa huffs and stands up straight. “You say that now.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he pictures everything warm and fuzzy in his recent memory to calm himself. It fails because in all of his favorite moments in the past few months, Ushijima is there. “Damn it.”

“I’ve never actually heard you swear before.” Some of Ushijima’s good humor returns, and that hint of a dimple gives Oikawa the boost he needs to push forward.

“I like you.” Ushijima stares at him, eyes narrowing with either mistrust or concentration. Oikawa’s tired brain can’t figure out which. “Please say something.”

Ushijima meets his gaze. “I assume by like, you’re not talking about friendship kind of like or roommate kind of like.”

“Correct.” Oikawa’s mouth is bone dry as he waits in agony for an answer while Ushijima churns that idea around in his head.

Finally, he receives a response. “Good.” Ushijima’s hands frame Oikawa’s face, and he brings their lips together for a demanding kiss. It steals the air straight from Oikawa’s lungs, and he clings to Ushijima as the room begins to waver.

When their mouths wrench apart, they’re both panting and blushing and _god_ it looks good on Ushijima. “So that happened,” Oikawa gasps.

“It did.” Ushijima’s fingers card through Oikawa’s wild hair, thumb lightly stroking his cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without seeming creepy. Luckily for me, you’re the smart one.”

Oikawa huffs, but he’s smiling wide. “Stupid Bakawaka-chan, making me do all the work. Make it up to me.”

“I will.” Without warning, Ushijima hefts Oikawa up by his bottom and reels backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He drops to his seat, and Oikawa straddles his lap.

It’s nearly an hour before they finally pry away from each other, yawning and all smiles. “So are you done offering me escape routes?”

Oikawa laughs until tears spring to his eyes, and he dashes them away unabashedly. “As if I would let you go now.”

“I’m glad we agree.” Ushijima drops back onto the bed, and Oikawa sprawls out on his chest and buries his face in the hollow of Ushijima’s shoulder. “I take it you’re ready for bed.”

The words are a scant echo in Oikawa’s foggy brain, a long day of overthinking taxing his strength. And now that he’s exactly where he wants to be, the rest of him is ready to rest. He notices the rumble of amusement through Ushijima’s chest, and warm arms wrap around him and hold him close.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oikawa is a bisaster.


End file.
